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Sunday, February 15, 2009

I have come home and l'm looking through the window...I am looking back into a world gone forever. Thinking of a time thatwill never return. A book of photographs is looking at me. 25 yearsof looking for the right road. Postcards from everywhere. If thereare any answers. I have lost them.-Robert Frank

I am scrapbooking, a hundred or more paintings, finding their images and stories. Bear with me...

It started so many years ago now. I was a punk, my head andbody almost transcluscent. It was my first year at college andl was listening to Joe Cocker. English 101 and we were told to doa presentation - on anything. I decided l would do a piece on thehomeless, men on the streets. So one morning l borrowed a cheapplastic camera and headed downtown (calgary) on my "excalibur".Yes my ten speed was called excalibur, a canadian tire special,gold in color, and l felt like a knight.

It was was wintery cold, minus something, l bought a styrofoam coffeeand just stood on the street and waited.Eye contact, cigarettes, l offered him a sip of my coffee. He was short, spokewith an accent and his name was Meitro. I spent the day with Meitro, we hadbus station sandwiches and we walked and walked. He showed me the bins behindsafeway, lots of broccoli, not so green. He constantly checked telephone andnewspaper slots for spare coin. He showed me where to go and what to do.Our day together was slow, meandering, and gentle. When l left Meitro that day,l was filled with such joy, l had survived the round table.

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And so it went...My second year of college and l spent it taking pictures of peopleon the street. I can't describe the feeliing, l was scared, l had butterflys in mystomach, l was excited. Those feelings when you know you are truly alive.

I photographed everyone, l was on a binge, l bathed in it. I pimped my smokesfor hints of conversation. I was champagne in a bucket.

I was still a punk, l was still transcluscent, but...

I started to question myself.

Afraid to die alone, afraid to die unloved.Maybe l needed to care and to be cared.cont...When we are no longer children, we are already dead.-Brancusi

Beautiful post Ken - your blogging act is a piece of art by itself. I'm falling in love with your stories,thanks for opening your heat and soul to the world. Also, thanks for the mention of mine, you are so generous!A great evening-day-week from the other part of the North.-Pierre

Welcome back, Ken. I'm in love with your photographic style. There's just something about all your pictures that I can't put into words, but you do have a certain point of view that I've come across very rarely.

P.S. Love that drawing of the knot, and the note " When pulling the knot taut, do so gently."